Memories in the Ruins
by Durbe the Barian
Summary: "Walls have ears, yet they lack lips. Despite this, they still find a way to tell their stories."


**Zexal Oneshot**

**Memories in the Ruins**

**Mystery**

**Seven Barian Emperors  
**

"**Walls have ears, yet they lack lips. Despite this, they still find a way to tell their stories."**

**(I don't own Zexal. If I did, I don't know what I'd do.)**

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Memories in the Ruins

Walls have ears, yet they lack lips. Despite this, they still find a way to tell their stories.

The Ruins of Number 73 and Number 94.

The walls remembered the suffering of those who wandered through the deadly labyrinth. They could still feel the emotions seeping out of the warriors who were willing to die if it meant saving their king. The very same king who came alone to face another, hoping to spare the lives of the many under his command.

The sadness that followed.

The emotions that flew to the sky.

The walls remembered them all.

Then the prince returned, leaving a great warrior there. He left him a mission. To return his memories to him the next time he appeared. The prince knew what was to happen in the future, though how, he couldn't say. Maybe the spirit of his deceased friend gave him a hand.

The prince returned, just as he had said. He regained his memories, just as he commanded.

The prince no longer serves the earth.

He protects another world now.

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The Ruins of Number 65.

The heavy doors still remembered the invasions that the young prince had done. They remembered the sorrow that the prince was feeling when he hobbled his way into the palace, his tainted sword weighing heavily in his weary fingers. The traps remembered their duty to protect their prince, regardless of how far he fell. The palace was loyal, despite the tears that it failed to shed for its master.

The center of the palace remembered the sadness of the people that perished there. It remembered the cries of those that neared their demise. It remembered every emotion that the prince felt, from ecstasy to fear to regret.

The throne remembered how the prince fell to his knees as he realized what he had done. It remembered how the prince gave it one final look before he thrust his blade through his tainted heart.

"I'm sorry."

The sadness.

The regret.

The grip of insanity that had pushed him to commit such heinous crimes.

The realization that he had personally slain every person in his kingdom, even his lover and friends.

The prince died regretting his actions.

He begged for a second chance; a chance to undo the wrongs he committed.

He was given that chance, but his desire was forgotten.

The great prince, Rei Shingestu, was gone.

Only the Mad Prince, Vector, remained.

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The Ruins of Number 64.

The ground remembered what the world would not. It remembered the general who saved the young tanuki, the only remaining life on the battlefield. It remembered the kindness the general had for the world around him.

The devotion to his people.

The kindness to the world.

The willingness to put himself in danger to protect his friend.

The determination to save his friend, even if it meant severing their bonds.

The soil remembered it well.

When he passed away, the earth protected his memory by burying his statue deep within itself.

His closest friend became the protector of his memory.

The General returned after many years, and the trees cried with joy.

But the General didn't remember them.

He served another world now.

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The Ruins of Number 54.

The Colosseum remembered well the bravery and courage of the gladiator. It remembered how the gladiator fought with nothing but his fists, reveling in the thought of a good brawl. It remembered the friendship that the gladiator had with the prince of his land.

The sense of thrill.

The rush that came to him after winning a fight.

The joy that came with the thought of another challenge.

And the betrayal he felt when he was put to death, despite the prince's pleas.

The Colosseum couldn't forget such emotion.

Then the people drowned the Colosseum, hoping to rid themselves of the ghost of the great warrior, who had been wrongfully put to death.

One of the few who fought the gladiator firsthand became the protector of his memory. He became the Guardian to his Number.

The Gladiator returned after his prolonged absence from his home.

He had returned, but he was no longer the same. His heart still held his old spirit, but his mind and body had all but forgotten the beautiful memories that he'd made there.

His world is no longer Earth, his fight no longer with his hands.

His world is one on the verge of death, and his fights are with long forgotten beasts of old.

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The Ruins of Number 46.

The mountains remembered the blond tamer of dragons. The courage he possessed, the selflessness he displayed. The sky remembered how happy he was when he was atop his dragon friend, Jinlong. Both the wind and the earth remembered how flashy he tended to be, and how kind he was to the people he vowed to protect.

The friendship he had with the dragon.

The peace he had with the earth.

The love he felt for the people of his land.

The mountains remembered what the people had forgotten.

The earth still carried the scars of the battle that took the tamer's life. It still felt the warm blood from the arrow wounds that took the lives of both tamer and dragon. The tamer left the world, but the dragon remained in spirit.

The dragon, under the guise of an old man, vowed to protect his master's power until his master, or someone else worthy enough to inherit his title, returned to claim it. His memory of his master refused to fade, the scars of loss refusing to heal.

The dragon met one with eyes like his master. He fought against him and lost.

His master returned shortly after.

But in body only.

His eyes, they were no longer those of the kind master who was willing to die if it meant saving his friend. They were those of a cold warrior, who thought of nothing more than finishing his duty.

Master Misael had vanished.

Only Misael the Dragon Tamer of the Barian World remained in his wake.

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The Ruins of Number 44.

The ruins could remember little about the knight, but even that little was something important. It remembered the stories told by the people who loved him; how brave he was and how compassionate he could be, even to his enemies. The walls remembered his friendship with the king of another land. The statue remembered the devotion he had to his precious steed. The paintings remembered his loyalty to his people and to his allies, even if they were to turn against him.

The floor remembered the crime that occurred before the ruins came to be. The soil remembered the unjust death of the knight by the hands of his friends.

The trees remembered the sorrow of the knights, who deeply regretted their actions and buried both knight and steed.

The spirit that remained remembered the words of his master.

"The bonds we make with others shall open new paths."

The kindness he'd shown to others.

The devotion to his people.

The bonds he'd forged with many.

The ruins would remember what history would not.

The knight returned to reclaim that which was his, even if he himself didn't know it. But the knight was shattered. He couldn't remember his loyal friend, nor did he remember his life as a human. His determination to protect his friends was still strong, though, and his honor remained engraved in his heart.

He soon began to remember what the ruins could not.

His jeweled heart merely concealed the still-beating heart of a deceased knight. The honorable man inside him was still sleeping, waiting patiently for the call of his king.

King?

What king?

The knight no longer had a king.

He served another world now.

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**D.T.B: Okay, just me rambling on now. If you like it, leave a review. **


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